


A Key and a Kite

by EquusGirl0621



Series: A Struggle of Power [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dominatrix!Irene, F/M, Flogging, Mrs. Hudson being motherly, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Power Dynamics, Rope Bondage, Sherlock being a bad example of a sub, Sherlock's First Scene, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6019561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EquusGirl0621/pseuds/EquusGirl0621
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock receives a box of seemingly unrelated objects on the 13th of February. A month later, The Woman shows up in his flat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Key and a Kite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexpernau](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=alexpernau).



> This is my gift for the Adlock Valentine's Day gift exchange. It was written for [alexpernau](http://alexpernau.tumblr.com/) with the prompt "extremely kinky". I hope you like it! This is my first time writing a BDSM scene and smut so please let me know if anything is unrealistic or wrong in the comments. I did a lot of research so I hope it works.

Sherlock heard Mrs. Hudson's door open as he was climbing the stairs to 221B. He sighed heavily before turning around; he had just come from a crime scene. He had solved it rather quickly, before the sleet had managed to wash away all the evidence. Frustrated with the incompetence of Scotland Yard and soaked to the bone, the last thing he wanted to do was have a chat with his landlady. 

“A package came for you, dear.” She met him halfway up the stairs. “I don't know who it's from. There isn't a return address. Oh! You're a mess! You'll catch cold if you keep standing around in those wet clothes.” 

“I don't get sick. Nevertheless, it's rather uncomfortable; so, if you'll excuse me. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock accepted the package and ascended the stairs once again. Letting himself into the flat, he threw the package on the sofa and began stripping on his way to the bathroom. First, he wanted a hot shower, the package could wait. 

Once showered and dressed, he came out to the sitting room to retrieve the mysterious package. There was also a tea tray with a steaming cup of tea and some biscuits. He picked the package up, automatically noting the weight and dimensions of the box. It was plain, brown cardboard with only his name on it. The handwriting was unfamiliar to him. The lack of postage meant it was delivered by hand or from a courier. It could contain any number of things. He shook it. There was a slight rattling inside, indicating multiple objects. Having gleaned all the information he could from the outside of the box, he slowly peeled the tape away. 

The inside was lined with black tissue paper. Pulling the tissue paper back, he found of myriad of items, seemingly unrelated. On top of the pile was a ball of string with a wooden skewer through it. Upon further examination he determined it was bamboo and the string was a cotton blend. Puzzled, he went through the rest of the box's contents, slowly fitting the pieces together. A piece of sandpaper, a brush (similar to the one he used to apply shaving cream), a length of dense black cloth, a knife, ear plugs, clothespins, a candle, and a coil of rope he estimated to be 12 meters long. He smiled to himself, the Woman was up to her tricks again.

***

Sherlock was playing his violin in front of the fireplace, trying to think. The process would probably work better if he didn't insist on playing _her_ melody. After all, she was the one making it impossible to think, making frequent appearances in his mind palace. It was that _damned box_ she had sent, it hadn't taken him long to figure out her – what was that noise? He could have sworn he heard the click of her heels on the steps, the creak of the floor boards at his threshold. He stopped playing, listening intently.

“Don't stop on my account.” Sherlock threw only the barest of looks over his shoulder; it wouldn't be the first time he had visual and auditory hallucinations. But no, the scent of her perfume was too strong to merely be the product of mind palace. He set down his violin and bow before he flung himself into the black armchair. She smirked and sat opposite him, sinking gracefully into the red armchair, placing her bag by her feet. “I trust you received my package?”

Sherlock steepled his fingers in front of his face. “I did.” His face remained expressionless as he looked Irene over, trying to glean as much information as possible about where she had been and what she had been doing since they had last seen each other. He pushed them aside for later as she spoke again.

“And?” Irene leaned back, crossing her legs, a crooked smile on her face. She looked every bit a queen holding court, studying her royal subjects. Sherlock remained impassive, not wanting to reveal how the objects had stimulated his imagination over the past four weeks.

“It became apparent you were planning some kind of sensory play. Painfully obvious. I do hope that wasn't meant to keep me preoccupied for these past four weeks.” Sherlock remained passive, still refusing to show anything. Irene wondered what he was reading from her. 

Irene got up and crossed the distance between them. She straddled his legs, stroking his jaw-line with her fingertips. “We both know if I wanted to puzzle you, I'm more than capable. Four weeks is nothing. No, Mr. Holmes, I wanted you to figure it out.” Irene's smile could only be described as predatory, her voice a purr. She rested her other hand on his neck, Sherlock hoped she couldn't feel the slight increase in his pulse. 

“Yes, you wanted me to think about you every time I saw that box.” Sherlock paused as he unbuttoned the two buttons on her blazer, pulling it open. “Waiting for you to appear in my flat.” Casting his eyes down, he rested his hands on her waist, fingertips stroking the bare skin there. He found the contrast of her lace longline bra against leather pants oddly arousing. “Imagine all the things you would do to me once you came.” His hands moved down to her leather clad hips as he met her gaze again. He decided the lace and leather combination suited the Woman just as much as her garters and stockings.

Irene tipped his face towards hers, their lips only few inches apart. “And did you enjoy your fantasies, Mr. Holmes? They'll pale in comparison to reality.” She pulled away and stood up. “Retrieve the box.” She stood with her arms crossed, chin slightly raised. 

Sherlock sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes before standing up and brushing past her, blue dressing gown fanned out behind him. He returned five minutes later, handing her the box as he sat back down in his chair. Irene peered inside, noticing something off. “Where are the rest of the items?” 

“I may have used a few in experiments. I assumed you would bring extras.” Sherlock stared straight ahead, not looking at her, fingers tapping on the armrest.

“Of course. I always carry around sandpaper and clothespins and shaving brushes. At least you managed to keep the rope and the candle.” She extracted the rope, and worked on locating the middle. 

“I actually used the rope on a corpse. I wanted to see if ligature marks could be inflicted post-mortem. Hope that doesn't bother you.” Irene's hands stilled momentarily on the rope.

“I'm not the one being bound.” Her smile was as sharp as the edge of a knife. “Strip. I think a punishment is in order.”

“Why?” He remained sitting, fixing her with a challenging stare. 

“You failed the task I set you. Now, _strip!_ ” Her voice cracked through the air.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and kicked off his shoes. “It wasn't like you included instructions.”, he muttered petulantly. Standing up, he let his dressing gown fall to the floor, not breaking eye contact with Irene as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. 

She smirked before turning around and circling the perimeter of the room. She stopped at the threshold of the kitchen, looking up at a hook embedded in the ceiling. “Can this bear any weight?”

“Some. I hung a mannequin from it for an experiment.” Irene made a noise of satisfaction before continuing a large circle around the room. Sherlock unbuckled his belt and unfastened his trousers, letting them drop to the ground. He shed his pants and stepped out of the pool of clothing at his feet. He watched as she continued the circle; her attention had shifted to him instead of their surroundings. The image of a lioness circling her prey invaded his mind, making him feel slightly uncomfortable. He pushed the image from his head, it didn't do well to show weakness.

Irene stopped by the desk near the window; for once it wasn't crowded with case files and other detritus. “Come here, and bring your belt.” 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he crouched down to retrieve his belt from the loops of his trousers. Her only response was to tilt her head slightly as she smiled knowingly. He approached her leisurely, stopping when there were only a few inches between them. He could feel her radiant body heat against his exposed skin. 

Irene didn't so much as blink at his proximity or how he loomed over her; though he hadn't really expected her to. She was the Dominatrix now; the Dominatrix wasn't intimidated by such trivial things as height. 

She took the belt from him without looking away. “Lean over the desk.” Sherlock's pulse quickened, he felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. He became frustrated with himself and the reactions the Woman could pull from him. Resigning himself to his fate with a sigh, he did as he was told. He pushed a cup to the far end of the table before leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. “On your toes. Your heels are not to touch the floor.”

“And if they do?” Sherlock raised up on his toes, his back arching further as he kept his chest pressed against the table. 

“I'd work hard not to find out.” The soft touch of her fingertips along his spine was unexpected. He couldn't repress the shiver that went through him as her nails grazed his scalp. “Do you remember your safeword?”

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. “As if I'll need it.” A hiss escaped his lips as she grasped his hair, sharply pulling his head back. 

“Do not test me, _kätzchen._ ” He tried to make eye contact but she was just out of his field of vision. She let go of his hair, his neck ached slightly. As if just realizing the full implication of the position she had him in, Sherlock began feeling a sense of vulnerability. He was completely at her mercy. 

She gave no warning before he felt the bite of the leather against the backs of his thighs. He just barely bit back a gasp; she didn't hold back, putting as much force behind it as she was capable. “I think five lashes is fair, yes?” 

“Yes.” He readied himself for her next strike. 

Instead, she pulled his head back sharply once more. “'Yes' what?” Sherlock was momentarily confused, unsure of what she wanted. He thought through what he knew of Dom/sub dynamics. Usually there were special names one used to address the dominant, to show one's submission.

“Yes, _Mistress_ ,” he muttered grudgingly. Her hand released his hair, trailing lightly down his spinal column. Such a contrast to the ache in his neck and stinging thighs. 

“Better.” He was prepared for her next stinging strike; not that it lessened the bite of leather into flesh. Sherlock knew he shouldn't have been so surprised by her strength, all the power that her petite form contained. She trailed the belt slowly down his spine before striking him again. He bit his lip to keep from making a noise, trying to slow his breathing; he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how she affected him so. Even though it was probably all in vain, the Woman was good at her job. 

Irene continued contrasting strikes with soft caresses until she had dealt his full punishment. His thighs were stinging uncomfortably though there was something slightly pleasant about the sensation.

“You may stand up and put your heels on the floor.” Irene set down the belt and shed her blazer on the way to pick up the coil rope. Sherlock simply stood there and watched as she walked to the hook in the doorway, admiring the way her bra framed the pale expanse of her back. The way the leather molded to the curves of her hips and thighs. Her movements were sure and practiced as she threaded the rope through the hook and centered it. “Come here.” 

Sherlock slowly made his way to her, trying to figure out what she has planned. Obviously he was going to get his wrists bound and slightly suspended. “Raise your hands above your head.” She turned around and retrieved a chair from the kitchen, her heels clicking on the tile. He did as he was told as she climbed on the chair. He watched intently as made handcuffs out of the rope. She did it with such practiced precision, there was no doubt she was one of the best in her profession. She tested the tightness of the bindings, fitting two fingers between the rope and his wrists. They were tight enough to be slightly uncomfortable, more of an annoyance than anything. Satisfied with her work, she trailed her hands down his arms and tipped his chin up towards her. The kiss was slow and sensual, but he detected a sense of hunger under her control, the only indication that she was affected by their current situation. Sherlock strained against his bonds when she pulled away, instinctively trying to pull her back to him. She straightened and appraised him, a satisfied smile spreading over her face. He tried not to think about how thoroughly debauched he must look. Pupils dilated, the flush in his heated cheeks stark against his pale skin, and surely she could feel the pulse thudding under her fingers. There wasn't any way she could miss the most obvious sign of his arousal. 

Irene stepped down from the chair, returning it to its' place. Sherlock tried to track her movements but twisting tightened the bindings uncomfortably. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and settled for listening to her movements. He heard the click of her heels pause as she stopped somewhere near John's chair. A rustle of fabric and the sound of her footsteps were slightly heavier as she walked towards him. She must have retrieved the bag she had brought with her. As she brushed past him, he opened his eyes as she pushed a few experiments aside and set her bag down. He bit back a complaint at her casual brushing aside of his experiments; thinking better of it as the memory of the belt biting into his thighs flashing through his mind. Unzipping the bag, she reached in and pulled out two small floggers. She held them at her sides, spinning them in her hands so the tails flared out. 

“Carouselling.” Irene turned back to him with an amused smile, continuing the carouselling movement.

“Been researching, have you?” Irene stepped toward him, letting the tails brush against his ankles. 

“The technique can be used as sensation play and as a warm up to flogging.” Irene walked around him, letting the tails brush around his legs. It was a peculiar sensation. “It can also be used to untangle the tails since they can become tangled throughout the course of a scene which I suspect you were doing just now. Making sure the tails hadn't become tangled during travel.” 

“Your suspicions are correct.” Irene continued circling him, gradually raising the floggers, heels clicking rhythmically against the floor. The sensation intensified as it hit the sensitive skin of his thighs. Still, the sensation was pleasant. The tails tickled and sent a shiver down his spine as they brushed against the small of his back. 

“Pull your arms in front of you, and lean your head against your arms.” Irene changed the movement of the flogger and he did as he was told. She stayed at his back, the tails mostly brushing with a slight smacking sensation initially. The gentle brushing of the tails slowly built up to light slapping, just short of pain.

“The position broadens my shoulders and back, presenting a larger target.” Sherlock recited, another tidbit he had retained from research. 

“I'm well aware, _kätzchen_.” Sherlock was surprised to find the repetitive rhythm was actually relaxing. Only after taking a deep breath and letting his muscles relax did he realize how tense he had become. Not only was it relaxing, but there was a sensual undertone in the way the tails seemed to caress his skin, reigniting his arousal. “There we go,” she purred softly, “Relax.”

Irene subtly altered the pattern of the flogging, still keeping the same rhythm. “I thought scenes were mostly about pain.” Sherlock was starting to lean more against his bindings, using them to support some of his weight as he relaxed into the rhythm Irene was setting. 

“I'm sorry, is this not your speed?” Irene stopped the flogging, her voice dripping with sarcasm. 

The sudden absence of the tails disoriented Sherlock; he found himself wanting the calming motions back. He scrambled to explain, “No, it was enjoyable. I just didn't know scenes could be so...relaxing.”

Irene resumed the rhythmic pattern and Sherlock started to relax again. “Scenes can be either or a mix of both. We'll get to higher impact play but first, I need you to relax. It'll be much more enjoyable for you later.” Irene varied the pattern once more as he took a deep breath, putting active effort into relaxing once more. He focused on the patterns she was making against his back. How the tails made light impact and brushed down his back in alternating directions. How she gradually picked up speed, increasing the impact on his body. She still wasn't using enough force to inflict pain. The flogging was so sensual in a way he wasn't used to; it was hard for him to process so he pushed the thought from his mind, focusing instead on the feel of the tails as they made contact with his back.

He found as time went on, not only was he physically responding to the flogging, he had psychological changes as well. His mind was _so_ quiet. Multiple trains of thought weren't fighting for dominance in his mind, deductions of his surroundings weren't constantly invading his attention. 

“How are you feeling? Still have feeling in your hands?” Sherlock wiggled his fingers and flexed his hands, they felt normal albeit a bit sore. He nodded in answer to her second question. 

Sherlock was having difficulty finding words to describe what he was feeling to answer the second. It was similar to when Sherlock had taken heroin but not quite the same. This was different, possibly even better. “So quiet. I like it.”

Sherlock's range of focus slowly shrank to the Woman and the sensations she was inflicting on his body. At that moment, she was the only thing in his world. 

***

Irene recognized the signs of Sherlock slipping into subspace. He was leaning more heavily on his bonds; she was worried he was going to cut off circulation to his hands. He had moved them and confirmed that he still had feeling but she wanted to make sure for herself. It was time to move onto the heavier floggers anyway now that he was thoroughly warmed up. 

She walked around to stand in front of him, reaching up to feel his hands. They were still warm and she could see no discoloration. He looked down at her, his pupils were dilated. Reaching up, she stroked the side of his cheek, “You're doing well, _kätzchen_. It's time to move on.” 

Irene walked over to the counter exchanging the smaller floggers for a heavier flogger with rubber tails. She made eye contact as she walked towards him, carouselling the flogger. There was a hunger in his eyes that stirred a warm heat in the pit of her stomach. She walked behind him once more, admiring the expanse of his back; running a hand from shoulder blade to hip bone, eliciting a shiver from him. The flesh was tinged pink from increased blood flow; a perfect state in which to receive the strikes she was preparing to deliver. She could feel the chemicals starting to course through her own system. That high that came with knowing someone was completely at her mercy, that she was in charge of someone's pleasure. It was such a heady cocktail that she never got tired of; she refused to think that it was intensified because that someone was Sherlock Holmes.

She trailed the tails up his leg, over his arse, and up his back; he moaned and tipped his head back. Irene stepped forward, pushing gently at the back of his head. “Keep your head forward.” She stepped back and planted her feet as he leaned his head against his arms again. Raising her hand, she struck his left shoulder blade with a dull thump, letting the tails brush down his back. There was a muffled grunt from Sherlock on impact. Irene smiled as she raised the flogger to strike again, striking his right shoulder blade. She flicked her wrist at the last second so the tips of the tails snapped against his skin. He gasped, sounding surprised at the different sensation. The chemical cocktail flooding her system had always created such a heady high that she never got tired of, but this time there was something different about it. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She refused to think it was because Sherlock Holmes was her submissive. That would be absurd. She brushed the tails along the reddening marks on his back before delivering another stinging blow. Alternating between thudding and stinging blows, she continued the flogging, sometimes caressing his back to let him rest.

After twenty minutes and watching Sherlock shudder and gasp and moan, Irene's arm grew tired. She needed to take a break, her stamina wasn't what it used to be when she had been working everyday. “Hold this,” she draped the flogger over his shoulder before running her hand over his back, examining it, looking for any broken skin. Satisfied she would be able to continue, she walked around to face him. 

“Is this subspace?” he asked, his pupils were dilated and his cheeks flushed. He looked like he was riding one of the best highs of his life. Irene couldn't help the smile that tugged the corners of her lips up; he was like dope on a rope. 

“Yes, very powerful, isn't it?” Irene reached up, feeling his hands for warmth. There were still no signs of discoloration but it would be best to get him out of those soon. 

“Mmm...s'nice,” he said, slightly slurring his words. Yes, he was definitely dopey; Irene bit her lip to keep from laughing. Irene was pleased that he was enjoying himself, proving that she had been correct in thinking that he would like a good flogging. If done properly, it was easy for the sub to slip into the trance-like sub-space. Though considering how out of it he seemed, she should probably end soon. She walked behind, grasping the flogger and pulling the tails slowly across his reddened skin. She started out slowly, stopping just short of causing pain before steadily increasing the force behind her strikes. After five minutes of increasingly more forceful strikes, she hit him harder than she had before. Sherlock let out a shout before she hit him again, harder than the last time. He shouted again, his breath coming in short gasps, chest heaving; his body went limp, his weight being mostly supported by the ropes binding his wrists. Irene grinned, as she ran a hand down his back, feeling his heated skin and the muscles underneath. He leaned into her touch slightly, and she trailed her hand around his body as she walked around him to the kitchen counter. 

She placed the flogger on the kitchen counter before turning around and walking towards him slowly, hips swaying. His breathing was still ragged, and his skin was beautifully flushed. She placed a hand on his chest, feeling his elevated heart rate; her lips claimed his in a sensual kiss. Reaching up, she tugged on an end of rope, releasing him from his bindings. 

He shook his hands free before wrapping one arm around her waist, pulling her closer; the other hand snaked behind her neck, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Irene allowed herself to relax into him, her body molding into his. He wrapped his hand around her arse, lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, one of her heels falling off her feet and landing on the floor with a loud thud. 

He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged. He murmured against her lips, “I want you.” He nipped at her lip. “Now,” he growled. His lips moved down to her neck as he began walking towards the bedroom. 

At his statement, Irene laughed low in her throat, tipping her head back. “And if I say no?”

“You won't.” He kissed her roughly, cutting off any response she may have had. The hand around her back disappeared as she heard a door open. He placed her on the end of the bed, pushing her down as he broke the kiss.

Irene propped herself on her elbows and placed her heeled foot on his chest as he reached for the snap on her trousers. A confused look crossed his face, his hands dropped to his sides. “Such a feisty _kätzchen_. I don't recall giving you permission.” She almost felt bad as she watched his face fall and he struggled for words. _Almost._

“I-I...please.” Irene's lips pulled into a wicked smile, thinking how wonderful he looked begging on his knees, it gave her a rush that made her heart race. 

She nodded and took her foot off his chest, “Very well.”

He pulled her other shoe off before running his hand up her legs. That same hungry look on his face as he met her gaze, fingers deftly unbuttoning and drawing down the zip of her pants. She lifted her hips to allow him to pull them off her legs. She had to brace against the bed, her leather leggings not coming off easily. Once they were finally off, he threw them to the side before tugging down her lace knickers, barely waiting for her to lift her hips again. He discarded them before skimming his fingers up her legs, placing his hands behind her knees as he pulled her roughly to the edge of the bed. Capturing her gaze, he placed a kiss along the inside of her thigh...the seam where leg met hip. Irene's breath hitched as he breathed against her sensitive skin, a wicked glint in his eyes. 

The rest of her world fell away as his tongue began to trace the sensitive outer folds, teasing her. She bit back a moan as he probed further, flicking his tongue teasingly against her clit. A hand slides up the curve of her stomach, his fingers pushing up under the cup of her bra, grasping her breast. She arched into his touch, quickly becoming undone as he continued alternating between light, teasing licks and harsh sucking. Occasionally he grazed her sensitive folds with his teeth, sending shivers up her spine.

The dull heat that had been coiled in her abdomen soon turned into a burning heat. She fell back against the bed, unable to support herself as she felt her muscles clenching. Her back arched as she started falling apart around him, unable to stay quiet any longer. His hands pushed her hips back onto the bed, forcing her to absorb the sensations rolling through her. 

Irene tried to catch her breath, expecting him to let up on her hypersensitive skin. But he continued, his lips and tongue no longer teasing, but unrelenting and unyielding. He would not give her a reprieve, his hands still pushing her hips down. She threw her head back, her hands clawing at the bedsheets. A stray hairpin stabbed her scalp annoyingly, she reached up and pulled it from her hair, throwing it to the side. She gripped the bedsheets and pushed against the hands holding her hips down as her muscles tensed again. A cry escaped her mouth as she was undone once again by Sherlock's mouth. 

Sherlock climbed on top of her, smirking down at her. Only Sherlock Holmes could leave the Woman wanton and yearning for him like a love-crazed teenager, keening at his lightest touch. And he knew it. _Bloody bastard._

She pushed against his shoulders, rolling on top of him and straddling his hips. Irene made eye-contact as she sank down on him. Now she was the one smirking as he sucked in a breath. She reached behind her back, unhooking her bra and flinging it to the side. Leaning forward she placed a hand on either side of his head as she began slowly rolling her hips in a smooth motion. 

Leaning up, he latched onto her left breast, his breath hot and wet against her skin. Her own breathing became hitched as he placed a hand on her back pulling her down further, biting her hardened nipple. Her only response was to increase her rhythm, grinding harder against him.

He moved his mouth to her other breast, swirling his tongue around her nipple. She threw back her head, a sound like a whimper escaping her lips. Pulling back from his mouth, she changed the angle and watched in satisfaction as he let out a strangled gasp. He grasped her hips with bruising strength, arching into her, trying to move against her. The added friction pushed Irene over the edge, shuddering and tensing around him; the sensations ripping through her, infinitely more intense than before. She rode out her pleasure, her head tipping back, clutching at his chest. 

Coming down, she glanced down at him, his eyes were on her, drinking in her appearance. Irene could only imagine how she must look to him; tendrils of hair, framing her flushed face, pupils dilated. He closed his eyes as she resumed her earlier pace, grasping her hips. He moved his hips in time with hers, fingers digging into her flesh. He cried out and threw his head back, arching into her several times before his hips stilled. 

Irene ceased her movements, watching as his chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes still closed. His grip on her hips loosened as he opened his eyes and blinked up at her. She lifted off of him and rolled over on her back next to him. His hand found hers as he intertwined their fingers.


End file.
